Rose, Rose, Rose Red
by Bear Bum
Summary: After teaching at Gotham University, before being employed at Arkham, Dr. Jonathan Crane walked the halls of a different asylum and was one young woman's worst nightmare.
1. Go to Sleep, You Little Baby

**Rose, Rose, Rose Red**

**Chapter One: Go to Sleep, You Little Baby**

"Dr. Crane, paging Dr. Jonathan Crane," the intercom speakers of South Gotham Asylum ('fondly' known as SGA) buzzed with the voice of the head doctor's secretary, Lucille. "Your presence is required in Dr. Miller's office immediately."

This announcement was little cause for concern, as SGA's doctors communicated like this regularly. However, Dr. Miller's order was a source of amusement among the staff and several of the asylum residents. Many shook their heads and went on about their business with knowing smiles on their faces, glad that they would not be in Miller's vicinity for a while. It was common knowledge that the relationship between SGA's head and its most promising young doctor was strained, to say the least.

When SGA's most promising young doctor heard the message, he smiled also. But his grin had the touch of cynicism that the rest of the staff's did not possess. He supposed that he would have to go, as not showing up at a conference with Miller usually resulted in one's immediate dismissal - something Miller would be more than happy to do in his case. But would a dismissal be so bad? Jonathan cared even less for Miller than the other did for him - a dismissal would get each out of the other's hair. Oh no, that would not be wise. Jonathan's dislike of _that man_ was very great, but not so much that it overruled his love for his job. He solved the inner debate, which had been threatening to blow up into an all out war, by compromise. Miller wanted him in upstairs immediately, but his desk was a wreck. Surely it couldn't hurt to do a little organizing...

Seven minutes later, Dr. Jonathan Crane presented himself at Dr. Miller's office. The head of the asylum glared at him.

"Crane, you're late."

"I am well aware of that, sir. I apologize." There was just enough sincerity in his reply to cover the derision that lay just beneath the surface. Miller looked as if he would like to give the younger doctor a good thrashing, but thought better of it and continued, pacing a very well-worn stretch of carpet.

"Crane, I am assigning you a special case. A certain patient 12B needs a psychological reevaluation immediately. I need it to be as thorough as you can make it, so hold off on all your other assignments and devote at least four solid days to her alone. Monday after next I expect a full report on my desk – do I make myself clear?" Miller concluded his order with another well-placed glare. Jonathan refused to shrink under his gaze, looking him straight in the eye as he replied.

"Perfectly – but sir, I have several cases that require daily treatment, and–"Jonathan was cut off rather abruptly as Miller waved him off, obviously not listening.

"Never mind about them, Crane. Hawkins will see to them. The reason I have assigned you this case is – what?" Miller was interrupted by his cellular phone, which delivered a brief message. As it ended, Miller's face hardened and he shoved his phone roughly into his suit pocket. "Damn, I'm going to be late for Shaw's hearing! Ms. Dawes will kill me. Lucille, finish briefing young Crane here and get him started. I have to run."

And he did so - grabbing a briefcase and shooting off down the hallway, footsteps echoing on the floor and doors slamming in his wake. His secretary sighed and turned to Jonathan with an apologetic smile on her face.

"Sorry about that – it's been a rough morning. Three suicide attempts in an hour, I've been told. And now, this hearing - Ms. Dawes won't be happy with him at all."

Jonathan shook his head, putting on a sympathetic front that fooled no one. "Stressful, to say the least. Now, if you would be so kind as to finish what Dr. Miller started?"

"Of course, Dr. Crane! One moment." Lucille gave him a broad, inviting smile before moving to Miller's file cabinet. She pulled out several file folders, checking each tab. "Aha, here we are! Patient 12B, Marie..." she squinted at the paper, as if trying to decipher the handwriting. "Johnson, age twenty-four, blah blah blah…" She trailed off, leaving Jonathan slightly peeved. He shook his head. Lucille was clearly getting into some bad habits. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering how long it would be before Miller fired her. She seemed completely scattered, it was obvious that this information session was not going to go anywhere fast. Pulling himself together, Jonathan decided to take action before any more time was lost.

"Perhaps it would be best if I went over this by myself, Lucille," he suggested, his voice soothing. "I don't doubt your ability –" he added, as she looked up apologetically. "In fact, that's exactly why I don't like keeping you from jobs that are _much _more important. _You_ keep things running smoothly around here, and we don't want anything to compromise your efficiency," he delivered smoothly, with just the hint of a smile – perfect. The devil himself couldn't have done better, and Lucille was not the brightest person in Gotham. She flashed him a dazzling smile, obviously relieved, her mind already on something trivial.

"You're such a dear! Go right ahead, but remember to bring it back! That's our only set for her, you know." The hint of coyness in her voice sickened Jonathan, but he resolved to grin and bear it.

"Of course I'll bring it back. I never break my word, Lucille," he said, the corner of his lip curling with what could be amusement, but looked like a grimace. With that, he exited the room, looking for the entire world like a perfect gentleman. Mission Accomplished. Crisis Averted. Excellent.

Back in Dr. Miller's office, Lucille sighed dreamily, mumbling to herself,

"What a hottie!" She frowned suddenly, disagreeing with herself. "Don't be silly, girl – you can do better than that…but still, it would be so nice to be his patient…" A schoolgirl giggle escaped her lips as she continued to stare at the door through which the doctor had left.

Had Lucille had eyes to see, however, she would have screamed as loudly as one of the Max ward patients. For beneath the endlessly charming and perfect demeanor of Jonathan Crane, a monster lurked.

**A/N**: Hello, this is Bear Bum. To whoever's reading this - thanks for taking a look! I really hope you enjoyed my first chapter. Whether or not, please feel free to review - I always have room to improve, and I'll be more than happy to answer questions. As a general note to people who have read this story before - this is a rewrite of the first chapter. When I began writing this story again, I felt that the first two chapters (written over a year ago) did not flow well with the later chapters (written more recently, in my current style). As such, I've updated and edited them to bring this story together as a whole. The concepts behind the first two chapters are still intact, don't worry - I just played with them a bit. :)

Bear Bum


	2. Your Momma's Gone Away

**Rose, Rose, Rose Red**

**Chapter Two: Your Momma's Gone Away**

Dr. Crane walked back into his office, sat down at his desk, and opened the patient records he had snagged from Lucille. He congratulated himself on a job well done before moving on to peruse the file.

**Patient #: **12B

**Name:** Marie Johnson

Jonathan paused here. He could see why Lucille had had trouble reading this profile to him. The word 'Johnson' was barely legible, and the paper underneath it was nearly erased through. It looked as though whoever had hand copied these records had written the name in pencil and then gone over it with pen at a later date. That was odd, as was the fact that these records were handwritten. Hadn't SGA been typing up its patient files for years upon years? This file was either very old (and that didn't seem likely, the paper wasn't yellowed at all) or there was something suspicious surrounding this case. Jonathan idly wondered if he could use this to his advantage with Miller.

**Current Age:** Twenty-four years

Yes, there was definitely something going on here. This patient's records should be typewritten, if she was really only twenty-four.

**Date Committed:** 15th September ----

That was the final clue for Jonathan - the year number was conveniently missing from the file. In its place was a rather conspicuous smudge, much like the one under the name 'Johnson'.

**Diagnosis:** Paranoia

Yet another smudge, this one preceding 'paranoia' - the word itself was practically illegible, as if someone had frantically scribbled it at the last minute.

And as for the diagnosis itself - well, Jonathan could barely contain his laughter. That was a very general diagnosis – and there were no notes following that one word. When one was usually diagnosed and committed, one's patient records described what was wrong, and what needed to be observed and fixed. Not even a secretary as dim as Lucille would consider the statement 'paranoia' by itself sufficient ground for commitment, let alone Dr. Miller. Miller would certainly not admit this patient without proving that she was indeed in need of serious medical attention. Miller was not a careless man, but he loved power; Jonathan could only assume that somewhere, money had changed hands. The whole thing stank very strongly of a cover-up operation.

If it was a cover up, and bribery was involved, then there was a very good chance that the 'patient' in question was completely sane, or very close to sanity. There was very little chance that someone who was actually crazy could be admitted with such sloppiness. She probably came from a wealthy family, as anybody who was willing to put a sane person in an asylum and foot the bill for it was bound to be loaded. If she was sane and was still here, two possibilities existed: first, she was being hidden from someone who wanted her dead; second, she was a keeper of important information who needed protection. Both were likely to be true - you never could tell with rich folk. Either way, there was very little chance that anyone outside the asylum (and those inside SGA would be a select few) knew she was here. This could indeed work to Jonathan's advantage.

But why had he been given this file? On a sudden hunch, Jonathan checked the list of doctors previously entrusted with her care. The first name, Dr. Glen Richards, told Jonathan that his patient was indeed sound of mind. Richards had been dead for years. In fact, Jonathan had been hired at SGA to fill Richards' spot. This was apparently someone's idea of a clever ruse: give them into the care of a nonexistent doctor and all problems are solved. Apparently someone else had not thought this was a very good idea, as there was another name on the list: Robert Mason. Jonathan chuckled. Of course, this explained everything. Mason had been a self-righteous prick, fresh out of university, who saw fit to stick his nose wherever he pleased. Needless to say, he hadn't lasted very long, not in such a place as Gotham. Jonathan chuckled again, wishing Mason a very painful death, before turning back to the paper in his hands.

He stared at it for a while, absently fiddling with one of the page's corners. Upon reflection, one could say that this young woman was his window of opportunity. Ra's Al Ghul, while obviously a very patient man, seemed to be reaching the end of his tether. In his last transmission he had warned the young doctor that if a suitable (meaning sane) human tester for Crane's Formula 41 was not found within a month, all funding for the fear toxin project would be cut, and Crane himself disposed of.

'_I am very pleased that your tests on various animals were so successful_,' the head of the League of Shadows had written. '_But, my dear Doctor, you must also be acutely aware that we do not plan to use your formula on animals. Your invention will be used to save humanity from its own corruption, and, as I am sure you know, the minds of human beings represent those of a higher order than beasts. It is therefore vital that you test Formula 41's effectiveness on a "real" human as soon as possible."_

Jonathan allowed himself a small smile as he began to compose a reply. It was so boring to write in code, but the League thought it best to shut down their secure channels for a bit while they relocated their base of operations.

'_Most Esteemed Mr. Smith,_' he began. '_It is with great pleasure that I write to inform you of a most favorable event. I have finally succeeded in employing a new secretary who meets all of our company's rigorous expectations. Her full resume is enclosed, and a one-week trial report will follow. I look forward to doing business with her, and hope that you will be just as satisfied as I am. Your Humble Servant, John Rance._'

Well, that would do nicely; but he was busy after work and couldn't very well take time off to deliver the note now. What time was it? Quarter to twelve – the secretaries would be heading off to lunch shortly. Could Jonathan get one of them to deliver it? Yes, he would ask Lucille. She was obviously infatuated with him, what with her breathless "yes, Dr. Crane" and glazed-over stare. She would be easy to convince. A pity, though, that Al Ghul's thugs would probably dispose of her afterwards. Miller would have to find himself a new secretary.

Jonathan turned from his dark musings to 12B's profile, still open on the desk. Pulling a small camera from his pocket, he recorded the entire file (not that there was much) on microfilm, which went into a briefcase containing Jonathan's note and quite a pile of data regarding Formula 41's test runs on patients in various states of insanity, or "animals", as Al Ghul liked to call them. Jonathan resented that name – if he'd had any choice in the matter, he would have said that his patients were more human than anyone else in the world. Al Ghul's word was law, though, and he saw Crane's patients as beasts – merely tools to be used in the League's plan for Gotham. It was a shame that Jonathan was not working with more of the criminally insane, like the residents of Arkham. He would enjoy that immensely.

However, this was not a time to complain about his lot in life. It was five minutes to twelve, and Dr. Crane would nearly have to fly if he wanted to get anywhere on time. He scribbled a postscript to the first League henchman who would receive the briefcase, assuring the man that Lucille had been sent by him and that the regular procedure should be followed. The note finally went back in the briefcase, which was then closed and locked. Then Jonathan, pen in pocket, notepad and briefcase in hand, went to pay two of the most unfortunate girls in the world a visit.

**A/N: **Hi! It's the Bear Bum again. Again, this is chapter two - the rewrite. Feel free to message me about any questions that arise.

Cheers as always,

Bear Bum


	3. Your Daddy's Gonna Stay

**Rose, Rose, Rose Red**

**Chapter Three: Your Daddy's Gonna Stay **

When the body of one Lucille Belrose turned up in an alley on the outskirts of Gotham, most people payed little attention. The police, of course, filed the mandatory reports, but otherwise stayed as far away from the topic as possible. The whole thing stunk of Falcone. Only one man knew better, and that man was Jonathan Crane. Coincidentally, he was the one who paid most attention to the murder. Lucille's disposal meant that his message was well on its way to Ra's al Ghul That meant that he would have to start experimenting on Marie as soon as possible. It was imperative that the League have the ability to strike soon.

Unfortunately, Lucille's death also got him some unwanted attention from Dr. Miller. The man had given him a stern lecture about sending other people's hired help out on their own personal errands, and had deducted a week**'**s pay (to cover the cost of hiring a new secretary, of course). Jonathan, knowing full well that Miller had far more money than he would ever own up to, had tried to weasel his way of out this by putting most of the blame on Lucille. He had not forced her to take the package; no, she had been going on her lunch break and had freely offered to save him some time. Was it his fault that Miller had hired a secretary who was so generous? Miller, having no answer for this, had told him to leave his office at once, or he would deduct two weeks**'** pay. The two men had gone their separate ways, each extremely irritated with the other.

But that was yesterday, and today offered many exciting opportunities for Dr. Crane, all of them profoundly more interesting than meditating upon the past. Jonathan decided to grab one of those opportunities, and left his office immediately, headed for the room of patient 12B, Marie Johnson.

When he arrived, he knocked twice, undid the deadbolt and other locks, and entered.

"Good morning, Miss Johnson, how are you today?" he inquired, sitting down and taking out his notebook.

"Oh, very well, thanks. How are you, Dr. Crane?" Marie replied, giving him a shy smile.

"As well as can be expected, I think. Now, can you remember what we were talking about last time we met?" He returned her smile with an upward quirk of his lips, something he found loosened the tongues of his female patients quite effectively. He couldn't tell if it had worked, though, because she had suddenly become very interested in the wall next to her. He coughed ever so slightly "Miss Johnson?"

"Yes? Oh, I remember - you were asking me why I thought I was here," she answered in a rush, cheeks coloring slightly "And I said I was here because my parents put me here for my own safety."

"Ah, yes. Now, would putting you away keep you safe because you would learn not to hurt other people and stay out of trouble, or were they trying to protect you?" He had asked her a very tricky question - at least for him. The nature of her answer would tell him if she would be easy to work on or not. And that was a vital point indeed.

"Well..." she paused for a moment, absentmindedly twisting a strand of hair around her finger"I'm not quite sure - this happened a while back, you see, and it's hard to remember. But I think they wanted to protect me. I don't know from what. I also don't know why they chose to put me in an asylum, either. I suppose they must've had good connections - I remember a lot of expensive things coming and going from the house before I came here."

"And what happened to your parents?" he pressed, not stopping to let any relief show on his face. The worst was over. She would not easily lie to him, and that was some of the best news he'd had in weeks.

"To be honest, I've got no clue. They put me in a Juvenile ward when I was sixteen, and they haven't come back yet. I got transferred to this place when I came of age. I suppose they have some sort of agreement with the higher-ups about me being released only by them, or some such nonsense. A fat lot of good it's doing me to be locked up here..." she trailed off, clearly reminiscing, staring at a point just above his left ear. He cleared his throat in an effort to get her attention, and she shook herself, looking guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Crane," she apologized, "it's just that I haven't conversed so much for a long time. I'm feeling a little awkward," she finished with a wry smile.

"Well I can assure you, Miss Johnson, that you need not feel awkward around me. I am here to help you. Now, you say you haven't talked much lately what kind of interaction with others have you had during your confinement?"

"Not much, I can tell you," she laughed, a sign of relaxation "Most of it's just, 'good morning' to the nurses that pop in and out with food three times a day. When I was back in the juvie ward I talked to people sometimes, but mostly they were too wrapped up in their own problems to talk to me. I've not used my voice for much else, except to ask for books sometimes. Oh, and I like to pretend I can sing," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"Do you?" he asked. Everything was going quite swimmingly - he would humor her for now.

"Yes, but I suppose I'm not very good at all. I must sound like a frog," she giggled again "I really should stop torturing the poor surveillance man and take up something else. If only I could knit-"

"That can be arranged," Jonathan interrupted, acting on a sudden inspiration, "Do you wish to knit?"

She looked up at him with exactly the expression he had hoped for - one of joy, under which lay the beginnings of real trust "Do you really mean it? Of course, I'd love to!"

He smiled back at her, glad to be making progress "Yes, Miss Johnson, I mean it. I shall get you a prescription for some knitting needles and yarn at once," he almost smirked at his very bad joke. She did the smirking for both of them, however, and looked as though she almost wanted to jump up and hug him. He decided it was time for him to go before things got out of hand. That would lead to awkward meetings afterward, something he didn't want yet.

He stood up and collected his briefcase and notebook (the latter full of scribblings about the day's session) "We've made some excellent progress today, Miss Johnson. I look forward to our next session. Good day" He gave a farewell nod, then turned to take his leave.

"Goodbye Dr. Crane, and thank you!" she called after him, her voice echoing off the whitewashed walls.

_Goodbye, sweet? I think not. No, you'll be with me for a long time, so long as I have my way. _

Chuckling to himself, Jonathan Crane strode down the corridor, off to visit a patient of considerably less significance.

**Obligatory Author's Note: **Well, I'm back! Sorry for not updating in over a year, but hopefully I'll get into a regular pattern this time around. Many cheers and kudos to Not Human, my wonderful Beta reader, for being so patient. To my other readers, I'm glad you've read my story, feel free to leave a review - I can always improve. Until next time, then.

Bear Bum


	4. Didn't Leave Nobody but the Baby

**Rose, Rose, Rose Red**

**Chapter Four: Didn't Leave Nobody but the Baby**

It was a fine morning in Gotham city, about as fine as anything could get in that hellhole. The day was nearly cloudless, and, as the air pollution had cleared in some areas, the sun shone down to the pavement, managing to brighten the few areas not covered by the shadows of skyscrapers, monorail tracks, and elevated highways. Out in the relative countryside - near the Wayne manor, for instance - the day would have been absolutely breathtaking. At least a few people in the city probably lifted their heads up and remarked on the glory of the day - glad to have some sort of distraction from the misery of their lives.

Of course, if you were like Jonathan Crane, you cared little for any of this. The windows of South Gotham Asylum were very small, and as such, allowed little light in. When you worked long hours under the perpetual glow of fluorescent lighting and went home under cover of darkness, any appreciation you had for your natural surroundings quickly disappeared. If you rarely saw them, it did not make much sense to waste any thought on them - and this was one area where you followed the example of your patients. They busied their minds with much more important things, almost never pausing to observe the obvious, even when that which was obvious was a bit extraordinary.

Marie Johnson was the one exception to that rule. She wasn't really a patient, so technically she didn't count, but she was under Jonathan's care. During their first meeting, she had babbled excessively about the details of her life inside an asylum's walls. In any other patient, this would have provided interesting fuel for analysis, but she seemed to be in possession of all her mental faculties. As such, it had been a bit difficult for Jonathan to restrain his temper at times. He knew infinitely more about the inner workings of the asylum and what it did for its patients - having these facts regurgitated to him when they could've been discussing much more interesting topics had been...aggravating. When she paused in the middle of a story about her various adventures with SGA's food, he had more or less interrupted and informed her that in fact, time was running out in this session, couldn't they talk about something less superficial?

The rest of the interview had proceeded at a much slower pace. Whether she was unused to answering questions of a more personal nature (he noticed that her current records conveniently showed a lack of therapy sessions, something that would soon be remedied), or she had caught the hint of irritation in his voice and reacted adversely to it, she had been decidedly less talkative in her answers to his inquires about her reasons for being in the asylum. He had noticed this and decided that they would end the session with some topics unfinished - it would not do for their relationship to be tense from the beginning. He had hoped that leaving her alone for a while would improve the situation, and sure enough, it had. Their second session had been more productive, giving him several pieces of information that he badly needed; however, he could tell that she still felt a little wary.

That was why he was very glad to hear her sayat the beginning of their next session, "I've heard it's glorious out today - the sun's actually shining down on the pavement."

Jonathan wasn't terribly excited about the originality of her comment, but he was glad she was in a good enough mood to talk of her own volition. He decided to let the conversation travel in this vein for a bit, so as to slowly work his way round to the real topic at hand. It would be somewhat tedious, as she was apparently someone who didn't react well to abrupt changes, but it would get the job done.

"That sounds wonderful indeed, Miss Johnson," he said. "You enjoy sunny weather, then?"

"Oh yes," she replied. "I always loved the sun. It was so bright and cheery - it made me feel happy whenever I saw it. When I was little, I used to play games with myself outside in the sun. I'd pretend only patches of light were safe, and I would try to jump from one to the next. I lived in a fairly metropolitan area, so the height of the buildings blocked a good deal of the light out, but there was always at least one spot of light on the pavement for me to jump to." She grinned, "I suppose it must've looked like a very demented game of hopscotch. Anyways, yes - I love the sun and the light it brings. Not that I see much of it now." She looked slightly disgruntled after this statement.

He grabbed the opportunity this moment offered and spoke again, "Yes, you're right. It's really a shame we can't afford a real outdoors area for our patients. It would do many of them a world of good to get out a little, wouldn't you agree, Miss Johnson?"

She looked slightly taken aback at such a question, pausing for a moment before saying, "Well, I obviously can't speak for your other patients, but I can say that the chance to get out of doors once in a while would be quite lovely for me. I'd probably have to find some sunscreen first, though." She glanced ruefully down at her skin, very pale after days of exposure to artificial light.

He smiled at her, pretending to be amused at her humor, but also very glad that she had given him an even wider window of opportunity with which to change the subject. "It makes you unhappy to be inside?"

"Not terribly. I mean, there are some days when I'm absolutely bored to tears, but they pass. The nurses bring me books if I ask, and now that I've got a prescription for knitting tools_-" (_she gave him a grateful smile)_ "-_ I can keep myself busy. So no, I'm not unhappy, per say, I just don't have much to physically do. And that's more annoying than anything else." She finished punctuated this sentence with a shrug, then gazed expectantly up at him.

He found himself at a loss for words for a second - that was not the answer he had anticipated. But he could cover, and it was still possible to pull this conversation in the right direction. "It's annoying now, perhaps because you have grown up, Miss Johnson, " he said, choosing his words carefully, "but was it not a little harder to endure when you were younger? In the juvenile facility, for example - were you unhappy there?"

She considered this question with a small frown, then said, "Yes, I believe I was."

"And why do you think that was the case?" he prompted gently.

"Well," she replied slowly, shuffling her feet under the table. "I think a lot of it was because I was frustrated with my parents - I mean, they just left me there without a word of explanation. No 'it's for your own good' or anything like that. I didn't understand why they'd done it, especially because we were usually very open with each other. I also missed them terribly, and that didn't help matters too much. I felt very alone at that point, particularly when I was interacting with the other people there. They had real problems that they were dealing with - I remember some horrible things happening. It wasn't exactly an appealing thought - living in the same building with someone who tried to hang himself, for instance. It was hard to sleep at night then."

"Why?" he asked, leaning forward a bit. If she was talking about what he thought she was, the rest of this conversation would be much easier to maintain. "What made it difficult to sleep?"

"Honestly?" she blushed a bit before continuing. "I was scared of the dark." She paused, staring over his shoulder, thankfully failing to notice his sudden change in attention. "No, that's not right. I should say that I'm afraid of what I _imagine_ might be in the dark. I have a really vivid imagination, you see, and it's always been a little bit more of a curse than a blessing. Back at juvie, I used to lie awake for quite a while after the lights were out, afraid to move or speak, or do anything because my mind had conjured up this gruesome monster standing over my bed." She laughed nervously. "It was probably due to that fact that I was pretty stressed, what with not knowing what was going on, or where my parents were, but even then I'd never really been able to kick that childhood habit. In some ways, I still haven't gotten over it. Sometimes at night I hear faint screams from somewhere else in the building, or the one of the night staff walks by, and the next thing I know I'm hiding under the covers, afraid to open my eyes." She stopped suddenly, then dropped her head down. "This is suddenly incredibly embarrassing," she murmured, the tips of her ears going red. He was sure she was blushing very deeply.

Jonathan glanced at his watch in order to give her time to finish being embarrassed and suddenly realized that if he didn't leave now, he would be late for a staff meeting. "Miss Johnson," he said softly, and she raised her head to meet his eyes, her cheeks still very pink. "I'm afraid our therapy session must come to a close. I have another appointment."

"Of course," she mumbled as he guided her to the door. "I'm sorry about my rambling - it must seem like a big waste of time."

"On the contrary, Miss Johnson, your 'rambling' is a great deal of help to me." He gave her just the hint of a smile - she still looked rather unsure of herself. "We've made excellent progress today, and I hope tomorrow will be just as productive. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Dr. Crane," she responded, and an orderly led her away. Jonathan allowed himself a small smirk, then quickly turned and made his way to Miller's conference room. He would be a bit late, but that would not be too much of a problem. Miller might glare at him for a while, but that was a cheap price to pay in exchange for what he had just found out. This was a glorious day, shining sun or no.

**Obligatory A/N (OAN): **Hi! It's me again, giving you a two chapter update. A big shock for most of my readers, I'm sure. I'm very pleased with the positive reviews coming my way, but I love it even when people don't like my story - review and tell me what bugs you! I guess I'm just an author of Questionable Review Reputation (others who are blunter than I would say: Review Whore). To get to the point: Review! I love receiving reviews - concrit is more than welcome. if you have any questions about my treatment of the characters, plot, etc., don't hesitate to ask! I hope to hear from you guys soon.

Cheers,

Bear Bum


	5. Don't You Weep, Pretty Baby

**Rose, Rose, Rose Red**

**Chapter Five: Don't You Weep, Pretty Baby**

Jonathan Crane sat before his computer, typing up therapy transcripts from the previous work day.

_20D shows marked improvement..._

At the word 'improvement', Ra's al Ghul's voice surged unbidden through his mind, as calm, collected and utterly chilling as the one time they had spoken together over the phone.

_Mr. Rance,_

_I am delighted to hear that you have found us a new secretary. Her resume is most appropriate, and we look forward to doing business with her. I trust we will receive regular performance evaluations, in accordance with our company policy. Please feel free to contact us any time about any problems that may arise, although I hope we shall not be needed often._

In other words, he wanted a clean job. If Jonathan screwed up, there would be hell to pay.

_45A seems static. Consider treatment revision to accommodate..._

The League, if he recalled, wanted something accommodated too.

_We are currently in the process of relocating one of our company branches. Please let us know about any employees who would be affected by this development. We care about their welfare, and will see to their needs accordingly, rest assured._

Ah, that was it. The League was to begin infiltrating Gotham on a larger scale, and they wanted him to report anyone suspicious before they finalized their plans. Unfortunately, he knew few of the underlings working in the city as he preferred to communicate directly with the top. The few he did know of seemed trustworthy, and he'd honestly rather not get involved in such a situation. There was bound to be a lot of backstabbing involved, and with his research in such a delicate position at the moment he couldn't afford anyone poking their nose in. True, he was working for the League, but some of his information was not appropriate to share. For instance, he had only just discovered that his little toxin had an antidote. This was, of course, classified until he figured out what he could do with it. Only afterwards would he consider letting his employer in on that secret. It would not do to expose a possible weakness yet.

Fortunately, he would have the opportunity to test out both the antidote and its corresponding toxin very shortly. Tomorrow, in fact. Tomorrow would be a good day to start, as he had the whole afternoon off. That would merit a certain patient of his some quality time in 'therapy'. It was going to be very fun, indeed.

He was very happy with this stage of the project. Marie was a great subject so far. She lacked the lucidity to become suspicious about his motives - he was grateful that she did not question the sudden increase in personal therapy sessions. She trusted him - she couldn't help it, really. After all, she had been stuck inside an asylum for eight years. Anyone who lent her a sympathetic ear, who actually seemed to care about her wellbeing, was a welcome friend.

And of course, it also helped that she was rather taken with him. Her infatuation was not nearly as obvious as Lucille's had been, but he saw it. Lucille communicated it through words, while Marie let him know in the way she picked up nervous habits around him. One day she would wind a strand of hair around her finger for hours on end; another day, she would absently flick her fingers or beat them in little patterns across her chair's edge. Whenever she looked him straight in the face, her cheeks reddened a bit, and she stared at the floor for long periods of time afterwards. This was altogether an advantage on his part, as he could ask her to do almost anything and she would do it. All he had to do was give whatever it was he wanted a scientific sounding reason, and that wouldn't be hard. She was very ignorant about the world she had lived in for quite some time, and he would rely on that.

It was almost sickening how easy it was to play with her mind. Things shouldn't be this straightforward. Perhaps working with his other patients had spoiled him - were ordinary minds this easy to pick apart? That couldn't be altogether true, but if there were more people like her, some sections of the world were flat and boring.

He had plans to change all that, however. He would mold her mind, teach it to know true terror: that sweet state of mind that was a far cry from her childish bedtime fears. Oh yes, he would form that mind like an expert potter formed an exquisite ceramic piece. She would be beautiful when she was done. Beautiful, and all his. That was something to look forward to.

And if he could spread that same beauty and fear to the rest of Gotham, so much the better. It would be a wonderful thing

The following day, at exactly two in the afternoon, Dr. Crane could be found in a small room on the third floor of SGA, Marie Johnson seated behind him in the only chair. He opened his briefcase and began arranging his tools before him as he talked to her.

"Today, Miss Johnson, we are going to try something new," he said as he opened a plastic bag. From the scuffling sounds he could hear behind him, the nervous habit of the day was foot tapping.

"Something new?" she echoed him, sounding curious, but at the same time hesitant. He had, of course, expected such a reaction, and went about his way to allay her apprehensions.

"Yes, Miss Johnson. From a careful reading of the observations I made in our previous sessions, this course of action stands out as the most logical step." He turned to face her, noting the blush that spread over her features as he looked her in the eye. "I am very pleased to inform you that your current mental state is quite admirable for a person in such extraordinary circumstances. However, good things tend not to last, and in your present isolated condition, you may develop any of several disorders that would be indeed detrimental for yourself and any family you may possess."

As he delivered this last line, she gave something of a 'yeah, right' smirk. He allowed himself a small smile as well, though for different reasons. The irony of his speech was not lost on him. He almost wanted to restrain her and get the whole thing over with then and there. But he restrained himself instead. After all, drawing her into the trap was half the fun. He shouldn't be too hasty.

"As such," he continued, "we will be starting some pre-emptive therapy. It will no doubt be a little more intense as we work on problem areas, but there's no cause for you to worry. Your safety is of utmost importance, and I will be holding myself personally responsible for your wellbeing."

She mulled this over for all of thirty seconds, then said, "All right. What problems need to be addressed?"

Secretly glad that she had not taken longer to convince, he replied, "Our first concern, I think, is your fear of the dark - the one we've discussed several times in the past. Normally this would not be an issue, as many adults grapple with adolescent fears throughout their lives. However, the intensity of the fear you describe concerns me," (it was terribly hard to make that sentence seem serious), "and I believe it would be unwise to let you continue like that in your present situation."

This seemed to make very good sense to her, as she nodded and made various assenting noises throughout his conversation. He turned back to the table, glad to be done 'explaining' when she asked the one question he had hoped she wouldn't.

"What are we going to do for therapy?"

He groaned inwardly as he turned to face her once more. This was his weakest point. Hopefully she would buy his story, but there was the slightest chance that it wouldn't ring true for her.

"We'll be employing one of my own special techniques - a blend of psychopharmacology and hypnotherapy that I find especially effective in dealing with mild phobias such as your own," he said, doing his best to sound honest.

"I'm going to be drugged?" she asked, sounding skeptical. "Why would that help?"

"Because, Miss Johnson," he said, slightly irritated and hoping his improv skills could save his, for lack of a better term, ass. "I find that the subconscious is much more effectively communicated with when the rest of one's mind is otherwise...occupied. Does that make sense?" he added, glad that she couldn't hear the mocking tone he had wanted to apply to that sentence.

"...Yes, it does," she said slowly, suddenly very interested in the floor. "I'm sorry if that seemed impertinent - I didn't mean to be rude."

"That's quite all right," he said, resuming his work at the table. "We'll be ready to start in a few moments."

There was a brief silence.

"Will it taste bad?" she inquired, sounding a little nervous.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, thrown off by her question.

"The drug - will it taste bad?" she repeated. "I have a pretty strong gag reflex, you see, and I wanted to - oh." She cut off short as he turned around, having glimpsed the needle he held in his hand.

"Well, Miss Johnson, seeing as this medicine isn't _ingested_, I wouldn't know," he replied, giving her a condescending smile and walking towards her chair.

She said nothing more, simply bared her arm, turned her head, and waited.

Jonathan nearly trembled as he sterilized the inside of her elbow, but sharply reminded himself that now was not the time to lose control. When he had punctured her skin, however, and the needle's deadly contents were emptied into her bloodstream, he allowed himself a small thrill of anticipation.

All hell was, hopefully, about to break loose. It was going to be fun.

**OAN:** So that was the second part of my gasp two chapter update. Goodness, that was fun. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Whatever your reaction, my only response is to please, please review and tell me what you think. I can't say it enough - I love me some reviewing.

My next couple of updates may be slower in coming, as I am going back to school from a wonderful winter break, and in my case that means preparing for finals. AP Calculus is looking like it will be a brain drain, but hopefully I can use this story to relieve stress and make you people happy as well. If you think I've gone too long without updating, send me a PM and I'll get working to fix that problem asap.

Cheers for now!

Bear Bum


	6. She's Long Gone

**Rose, Rose, Rose Red**

**Chapter Six: She's Long Gone**

It was almost as if she was five years old again, getting vaccinated at the pediatrician's office. Unlike her younger self, she didn't whimper or struggle. But there was still that disturbing second when the needle punctured the skin in her arm, and she had the ominous sensation that something foreign was entering her body. She'd hated it then, and she disliked it now, even as she told herself that it was all fine. She would be all right, this was going to help, strange as it seemed.

About a minute later, 'help' seemed very strange indeed.

The room grew dark - darker than any place on the earth could be. She couldn't have seen her hand if she waved it in front of her face, not that she was trying to. She was distracted, distracted by the presence of things too horrible to be named. The terrified feeling of being surrounded by evil threatened to overwhelm her as _They_ circled her, Their feet dragging on the bare cement floor, Their breathing harsh, rasping, and utterly foul smelling. She couldn't see them, but all her other senses perceived them. Her body seemed to go slack, all her muscles refusing to obey her frantic commands. She was screaming at herself to do something, anything but sit here and wait for them to come for her.

The next minute, she was doing something, though not what she wanted to do. Her heart rate, before a loud drumbeat in her ears, became a frantic buzz. Her nerves grew raw, her breath shallow, and her muscles convulsed in unnatural rhythms. And _They _ heard her: she could feel Thembreathing down her neck now, only to eager to crush and destroy. The malevolence in the air was almost tangible, and, had she had a firmer grasp on her mind, she would've sworn she saw this evil actually_ emanating_ from one of the presences in the room. It seemed the most aggressive, barely moving, but overflowing with something almost worse than the blind fury of the others - _it knew her_. Even as she stared blindly in its general direction, it disappeared; she knew, however, that it was not gone - it had just begun the hunt, and she was the prey.

She whimpered, and with that her mind let go of any coherent thought.

"Are you scared, little Marie?" A growling voice whispered behind her, and then she screamed. A chuckle sounded through the darkness, and she became aware of that singular presence again, now directly in front of her. "What's troubling you?" the voice mocked her, and she screamed again as razor sharp claws buried themselves in her chest, twisting her insides apart, destroying, breaking, hacking, burning, consuming...

Suddenly, the darkness receded a bit, and her agony seemed to dull. She managed to croak out two words from her torn-up throat "Dr. Crane?"

And then she saw him, crouching over her, his face inches from her own, his hair pointing in every direction, an expression of glee slowly draining from his face to be replaced with frustration. His features suddenly twisted and she shrank back as the darkness returned. She felt her thoughts slipping away again and could do nothing to resist. But even as this happened, she registered a small, painful prick on her arm. The world blurred painfully before slowly coming back into sharp focus as her eyes once again became aware of the fluorescent lights overhead.

She looked up at him, hoarsely whispered, "That was...odd," and fell off her chair, her muscles too exhausted to even hold her upright.

_Damn, damn, damn. Damnation and damnit. That went well._

Jonathan strode briskly towards his office, acknowledging no one, mind working furiously while his body navigated SGA's corridors on autopilot.

What a disappointment the afternoon had been. An analysis of the blood sample he had taken from her would be needed confirm his suspicions, but the dose amount was evidently too low. Apparently, damaged minds needed less stimulus - she had shown, through her brief moment of clarity, that his medicine had not been potent enough for her mind. Thankfully, he had thought to bring a small amount of the toxin's antidote (conveniently diluted) with him. She would not suffer any damage from this session, but the fact that he had not given her a sufficient amount of the already weak antidote meant that he could repeat today's session with some improvements. He would get what he wanted in the end. Of that, there was never any doubt.

When he paid her his usual visit a few days later, she responded to his greeting with a rather clipped 'hi' and went back to fiddling with her knitting needles and yarn. She was obviously still shaken by the incident, and this time declined to take her usual seat across from him at the table. Jonathan regarded her figure, hunched in the corner on the floor, with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

"I must apologize, Miss Johnson, for your unfortunate encounter the last time we met," he ventured, hoping to draw her into conversation. Silence greeted this particular attempt, so he tried again, "It appears that you reacted adversely to our treatment."

"Adversely?" she echoed in angry astonishment, dropping her needles. "_Adversely_? What the hell happened to me? What happened to my safety being the first priority?" Her dark eyes met his, filled with reproach. "I'm not doing that again," she said, surprisingly firm. He allowed himself a little sigh, taking off his glasses and placing them on the table. He looked her straight in the eye - Jonathan Crane did not back down, especially when so much was at stake.

"Miss Johnson, I must ask you to calm down or I will have to send for an orderly," he began, not so subtly reminding her that he was in charge. She took the hint and sat back down in her corner, her hands betraying her agitation as they fiddled with the needles. He steeled himself for a difficult conversation - he needed her cooperation, and in this state she was next to useless. He would tread carefully, speak gently, and hopefully get her into a better mood. It would not be easy, but it needed to be done.

"Now," he continued, "regarding Monday's session. It appears that you are allergic to a substance in the sedative I used. In most people, the drug has no effect other than the intended one. However," he raised his voice slightly as she gave a derisive snort, her behavior unusually bold. "In your case, this substance had the opposite effect - it prompted your body to release adrenaline instead of the correct chemical. This resulted in the unfortunate occurrences of our earlier session. You'll be glad to know that we have another medicine that will work just fine with your system, and I can safely promise you that we'll have no more repeats of what...happened last time," he finished rather lamely, annoyed to no end. He'd never spoken so unprofessionally in his entire life. It seemed to convince Marie, though, as she was nodding. That was good.

He started to pick up his briefcase, preparing to leave, but froze as he saw a frown crease her features.

"Why didn't you take a blood sample of mine beforehand?" she asked. "Isn't that the proper procedure, so you don't accidentally kill your patients when they're being treated?" He grimaced inwardly and began another lie.

"Miss Johnson, there are several blood test results on your medical records." This was true, but the facts presented there were entirely irrelevant to the effects of his concoction; it would theoretically work on anybody, and had not been proven wrong yet - thus any information about her blood was entirely superfluous. "According to your file, you should have had no problems with the medicine on Monday. That being said, mistakes happen. There was obviously a slip-up somewhere along the line, which regrettably resulted in this mess. I am sorry for the confusion you are experiencing right now, but we need to move forward, Marie," he congratulated himself on getting her attention, which had been lagging, by using her first name. That would throw her for a loop - he knew she would spend much of the day analyzing that sentence, trying to work out if he liked her or not. That would be most amusing - he loved playing with the female mind.

As amusing as that thought was, he managed to break out of his reverie long enough to realize that she was waiting patiently for him to continue. He gave her an approximation of a sympathetic and apologetic smile. "I know this is difficult for you, Marie, but we need you to cooperate if anything is going to improve."

"What if I don't want to improve?" she shot back at him in a manner any five-year-old would have been proud of. Now it was his turn to give her a reproachful look.

"I'm afraid, Miss Johnson, that that is not something you can decide right now," he said patronizingly, the tone of his voice hinting at disappointment. He watched her notice that he had addressed her formally again, smirking as he imagined her frantically trying to figure out how to win back his good favor, as she had obviously lost it. "The state-"

"-All right, all right," she broke in, clearly not wanting the conversation to continue. He looked inquiringly at her, and as she gazed at him her face fell. "Oh dear," she murmured, putting her face in her hands, "I'm so sorry. I'm tired, and I don't know what's going on with me, and I snapped, and..." she trailed off, obviously a bit overwhelmed.

"That's perfectly all right, Miss Johnson," he soothed. "I understand. Why don't I give you some time alone, and we'll talk again tomorrow, shall we?" She nodded slowly, looking up long enough to give him a wan smile.

Relieved, Jonathan collected his briefcase, glad to be back in control again. He wished her a pleasant rest of the day, and entered SGA's corridors, determined to finish the rest of his round before lunch.

As the last corner of his impossibly perfect suit disappeared into the hall and the door slammed shut behind him, she picked up her needles and began to knit. The steady rhythm of one stitch slipping gently over the other soon had her feeling calm and relaxed, and her mind wandered back to a time when she knew more than just the four bare walls of her asylum room.

_Darling, what in the world are you making?_

_Oh nothing, mom. Just a scarf. _

_A scarf? You mean you're actually planning to wear it?_

_Yes, mom._

_How novel! Kevin, do come see what she's making here - a real scarf!_

The piece of fabric in her hand grew steadily longer as she moved into a trancelike state, a woman's hearty laughter echoing in her ears.

"Crane!"

It looked like Jonathan would not be finishing his rounds before lunch after all. Not with Miller around. The young doctor quickly arranged his features into a mask of indifference and turned to greet his colleague. "Yes, Dr. Miller?" he inquired, hoping the annoyance he felt was not making itself too evident in his voice. Apparently Miller didn't think so.

"Crane, I asked you for an evaluation of 12B two weeks ago. Where is it?" Miller sounded more rushed than usual, if that was possible. Jonathan pretended not to know what the man was talking about (by giving him a vague, unhelpful stare), solely for the sake of his own amusement. Miller was a fun one to piss off. Today, SGA's head did not disappoint. "Where is it, Crane?" he hissed loudly, his face nearly an amusing shade of purple. "I need it." A passing intern stared openly at the two men, obviously wondering what was going on.

"You need it?" Jonathan echoed, greatly amused. Miller didn't come close to begging often - this was a moment to be savored.

"Yes, I need it, Crane. For a hearing today - evidence, you know. Ms. Dawes requested it," Miller's eyes were shifting all over the place - he was not very good at improvising. Jonathan made a mental note to himself that whoever had paid him to cover for Marie was not very bright. Honestly. _He_ was supposed to believe that the D.A.'s office was gathering evidence on the day of the hearing? Jonathan felt insulted.

"I'm afraid, Dr. Miller, that 12B's evaluation is in my office," he said. "Please excuse me. I'll get the paperwork to you immediately."

As he turned back in the direction of his office, Jonathan reflected happily that, while it had not been not his most coherent story, it had convinced Miller. Not that that was hard. Jonathan smirked, and began mentally running through patient evaluations in an attempt to find one which, with the name changed from 'Joe Patient' to 'Marie Johnson', would be convincing.

It was odd of Miller to follow through on the evaluation request. Marie had had no need for examination before. Jonathan had, until recently, assumed that he was supposed to take over her case and keep his mouth tightly shut. Now, he was not so sure. He needed to watch Miller closely, as nasty situations could grow out of this if left alone.

This was a tangled web indeed, but Jonathan was going to navigate it. He had to, for his own sake.

_**A/N: Just a quickie, as I'm pressed for time, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I liked writing it. Please review - tell me what you think about the other POV's and my OC, m'kay? **_

_**Cheers!**_

_**BB**_


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